


One Week with the Black Widow

by owlpockets



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlpockets/pseuds/owlpockets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha grudgingly accepts Skye's sudden presence in her life. (Original title: Grilled Cheese)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Utterly self-indulgent ficlet. I just really want Natasha and Skye to become friends okay?

Natasha sighed, squeezing her phone so hard it seemed for a moment that she was going to smash it in her hand. There was a girl on her doorstep with a duffle bag looking entirely unsure about this situation and Coulson on the phone asking her to, in essence, babysit. From her second floor apartment she could see his ridiculous (and admittedly gorgeous) red car speeding along the road half a block away in the dim morning light.

“Soo…I’m Skye. Hi.” The girl waved hesitantly, her tone mildly sarcastic.

“Natasha.” She eyed the girl suspiciously, mentally flipping through her files and coming up with information she didn’t care for, but she could also grudgingly understand why Coulson would fly all the way to Murmansk to get her a bodyguard. “I’m working. You can stay but keep out of my way. The couch has a pull out bed.”

“Thanks, I guess…” Skye replied. She stepped into the tiny apartment, shrugging off a truly gigantic parka. There were more layers underneath. She was too skinny. “I could help you if you want, I’m a qualified field agent. And I’m good at computers.”

Natasha pulled a hoodie on over her pajamas, annoyed that opening the door had brought the cold in when she had just gotten out of bed. “Do you speak Russian?”

“No.” Skye looked unreasonably disappointed and Natasha’s hard frown softened. Whatever was going on with Coulson’s team did not concern her in the least, but she could understand the frustration at being considered a liability.

Natasha handed her a sturdy hanger for the coat. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved. Someone forgot to restock the Quinjet with those little stale peanut packs.” Skye pulled off her boots and placed her bag near the couch, scanning the room curiously. Natasha knew the peanut packs were a joke, but she wasn’t ready to stop being irritated about the interruption in her rest and warmth just yet.

“I hope you like grilled cheese because that’s what I have.”

“Sure, fine.”

For the blessed few minutes it took to make the sandwich and a pot of coffee, Skye was silent, either sensing Natasha’s need for caffeine before conversation or succumbing to insecurity of being dumped off in a foreign country under the care of a total stranger. Maybe a combination of both. Taking a seat at the table, she thanked Natasha and looked especially grateful for the hot mug placed in her hand. Skye tore off a corner of bread with her teeth and chewed, with a look that reflected how hard she was trying not to spit it back out. “The cheese didn’t really…melt.”

“Is Soviet cheese,” Natasha deadpanned in her worst fake Russian accent.

Skye laughed in surprise, almost choking on her bite of sandwich. Natasha didn’t try to stop the sly half-smile tugging at her mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to continue this story because there isn't enough Nat/Skye friendship in the world.

“So…why are you called the Black Widow? I’ve heard a lot of different versions of rumors, but no one seems to really know.” Skye was draped over the couch, eyes slightly glazed and downcast toward the small TV in the corner.

“Why are you called Skye?” Natasha looked up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting and organizing papers from a set of files she was using on her current contract. Her gaze was brief, but clearly it made her houseguest uncomfortable. She didn’t feel bad; Skye had been getting on her nerves all morning with her awkward, babbling attempts at conversation, all of which amounted to Twenty Questions.

Skye flushed and sat up, folding her arms defensively across her chest. “Not fair, I asked you first.”

“Mm. Pick the one you like, it doesn’t matter,” Natasha replied. “Now you.”

“That’s not an answer. I’m just gonna keep thinking you were a child bride assassin that killed your first three rich foreign perv husbands in the name of Mother Russia, if that’s really what you want.”

Natasha quirked a smile over her papers. “That’s four different rumors in one.” 

“You said I could pick, I like all of them.” Skye looked relieved that Natasha appeared to have dropped the issue of her own nickname. “Okay, next question. Where you really evil before you joined SHIELD?”

Natasha stopped sorting and turned to face Skye, frowning slightly. The question didn’t catch her off guard, but she was a bit surprised that such a low-level agent had looked at her file. “Why do you ask that?”

Skye fidgeted with her ponytail before she answered. She didn’t look afraid, but rather inwardly apprehensive. “I just…I want to understand why people change so drastically sometimes.”

Natasha inhaled and thought for a moment. She had a good guess what this was about, and she felt the need to tread carefully. “Evil is relative. I thought I was doing the right thing. But, I thought I was doing the right thing with SHIELD too and we know how that went. I believe intent and conviction matter, no matter who you work for.”

Skye nodded thoughtfully. Whether it was the right thing to say, or what she wanted to hear, she wasn’t entirely sure. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”


	3. Chapter 3

On the third morning, Skye found out that Natasha dyes her hair. “I’m not ready to go gray,” she explains defensively. She hadn’t thought she was self-conscious about it before that moment. Then again, she had never really examined her need to get rid of the graying strands either. They just bothered her.

“I wasn’t gonna ask…?” Skye replied slowly. She had just woken up and was nursing a cup of coffee at the table.

“Well…now you know,” Natasha finished lamely.

Skye shrugged, a bit bleary-eyed and huddled over to soak up the warm steam seeping up from the mug. “No judging. What girl hasn’t fooled around with her hair? I just got these bangs. Still not sure how I feel about them.”

Natasha poured herself a cup of coffee and sighed. She took a seat across from Skye, swirling a bit of milk into her cup. “Espionage is surprisingly hard on your hair. I heard a rumor that Fury had a full head before he stepped up as director.”

Skye looked faintly scandalized. “Shouldn’t it be treason or something to talk about Fury’s hair?”

“Coulson’s head is probably already doomed,” Natasha smirked.

Skye shook her head sadly. “Oh, that’s a foregone conclusion, for sure.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have a serious 8tracks problem, here's a playlist to go with this chapter: [Girl Party ~ Skye and Natasha's Russian roadtrip mix](http://8tracks.com/owlpockets/girl-party)

“Get your stuff, we have to go.” Natasha dropped her own overnight bag on the floor by the front door and started gathering her winter gear. Skye was still sleeping, a pillow over her head. Natasha couldn’t really blame her, it was barely 5 AM and they hadn’t exactly gone to bed early the night before. _One more episode_ of Downton Abbey turned into three.

“Wheeeeeere,” Skye whined faintly from under her pillow. “Whyyyyyyy.”

“St. Petersburg. It’s a sixteen-hour drive if we don’t hit any snow, so bring your iPod. I’ll explain in the car.”

Skye’s head popped up from under the pillow, eyes squinting in the lamplight. “…Coffee first?”

Natasha tossed some clothes at her and the underwear landed on her rumpled head. “No, we’ll stop on the way. I drank it all already.”

Skye looked as annoyed as she could half asleep, but got out of bed and started to prepare for the trip. She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging only a few minutes later looking a bit fresher and more alert. After throwing her things in a backpack and pulling on her coat, she seemed ready enough.

They climbed into Natasha’s black sports car, settling in while Skye yawned through the whole process. “So why are we _driving_ all the way there instead of calling someone to fly us?”

“No one is close enough.” Natasha reconsidered as she pulled out of the parking lot, “Well, no one that can’t be bought off by the wrong people. This job calls for a bit of discretion and my mark suddenly decided to up and leave without warning. The why worries me.”

Skye stared at her. “This is what you call discreet transportation?”

“And that fleet of hulking black SUVs that SHIELD swears by is somehow more discreet? You have a lot to learn about spycraft, grasshopper.” Natasha’s lips flickered with a smile. “I seem to remember someone who used to live in a plain white van and still got pinched. When you look like you’re trying to hide something, people start to notice.”

Skye blinked and considered. “That…makes a weird sort of sense.”

Natasha laughed and clicked on the radio. Perhaps Skye’s presence wouldn’t be such a liability in the end; they had sixteen or so hours to catch her up on some things Natasha would normally consider rudimentary. “And that’s why I’m the best in the business. Now let’s get you some caffeine so I have competent backup.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a hint of Clint.

Natasha tapped the man's chest with her finger, smiling wickedly, but looking over his shoulder at her mark. She leaned in and said loudly close to his ear, laying the accent on thickly, "I'll be right back, I need drink. I send my American friend over to dance with you, she's very...nice."

With an exaggerated wink, Natasha left the dance floor, making her way back to the small bar where Skye was watching her and sipping something fancy. All the cheap gold jewelry Natasha had draped on her made her look elegantly trashy, perfect for the setting and the job. "I hope you're not actually drinking that. It's probably going to be a long night."

Skye sighed and gave her a long-suffering look. "No, _mom_. I'm just...smelling it. And daydreaming about drinking it. What a waste of a gorgeous drink...."

"Don't get snippy, I'm paying for this little outing, remember? You can have a real one later." Natasha nodded to the bartender and held up one finger politely. He slid a shot of something over to her while she slipped a twenty under a napkin. It never hurt to buy an extra set of eyes in a crowded club. "Anyway, I have to make a call, and you have to go dance with the tracksuit wonder over there and keep an eye on Andreyev. I told him you were American, so no weird accents, okay?"

"What's his name?" Skye set her drink down and stood up. The man gave a little wave at them across the room and Skye returned it with a tight smile. Natasha had to give her credit for putting up with the more distasteful parts of the evening with aplomb.

"Don't remember, don't care. Use it as an icebreaker. Good luck." Natasha patted her on the shoulder and conspicuously picked up the shot as she moved away through the crowd, pulling her phone out of her handbag.

The club was small enough that there was no quiet corner, so Natasha reluctantly headed to the bathroom, a tiny bit apprehensive that Skye might end up needing help while she was gone. Still, if her hunch about the job turned out to be correct, it would be better to at least let someone know. She ducked into a stall and dialed.

"Hey, Nat." Clint answered promptly and there was rustling in the background that sounded an awful lot like plastic bags. "I promise I'm not in a dumpster this time."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Really. Look, how close are you to St. Petersburg by air? I might need an extraction."

"You...what??" The rustling stopped. "Are you fucking kidding me? What do you need an extraction for?"

"I'm not alone, I've got a rookie with me." Natasha paused for a brief moment. "And an 084."

"Shit man, just lemme find this body and I can be there in...four hours. Text me the coordinates. Aha!"

"I knew you were in a dumpster," Natasha sniped. She hung up and left the bathroom, feeling slightly lighter about Skye's involvement...for approximately five seconds when her mark hit her squarely in the face on his way to the fire exit.

Reeling, Natasha groped for the wall, feeling a hand on her elbow. It was Skye, who looked properly freaked out. "I don't know what happened, I think the dancing guy tipped him off or something. Or the bartender...I don't know!"

Natasha shook her head to clear her vision, and fumbled with the straps on her stilettos. The guy had been wearing a heavy ring, but it was worryingly more than that. Christ. She shoved her handbag at Skye and moved out of her grasp. "Later. This might be worse than I expected. Get the car and go back to the hotel. Someone will get you in four hours if I'm not there. Do not follow me."

Natasha gave her a hard, searching look as she wiped the blood off her face, partly to make sure Skye understood and partly to ground herself that this was the right decision. Skye looked like she wanted to argue, but Natasha turned and took off running before she could start.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha was good, _really_ good, the best in the business, actually…and that is what she kept telling herself as she sweated and glanced at the timer on the bomb and worked at the rope on her hands. And sweated some more. The sweat was making the rope chafe more painfully than it had a few minutes ago. She considered again, briefly, what could have possibly gone so wrong. She only knew for sure that she fucked up because she was starting to care in (oh _no_ ) a sisterly way about that girl Coulson had saddled her with for the week. Perhaps Natasha would not now be in this situation if she had trusted Skye to back her up like the qualified agent she claimed to be. Perhaps.

She felt the knot finally start to give as the timer dipped below two minutes. The bump on her head throbbed, making it harder and harder to think straight; she probably had a concussion. Finally, Natasha’s hands were free and she worked off the knots around her ankles with numbed and fumbling fingers until they were loose enough to drop her to the hard concrete floor. After hours of dangling upside down, her legs did not want to cooperate, but through sheer force of will she started running. 

Once outside, Natasha kept going down the alley, mentally tallying how long she had before the bomb took out half the block. _Five…four…three…two…._ She dove behind a squat delivery truck and covered as much of herself with her arms as she could before the blast hit, but at least she had made it far enough to avoid any major burns. While she sat behind the truck, coughing in the heat and dust, Natasha wondered with a faint twist in her gut if Skye had done what she said.

Skye had not, as Natasha found out a few minutes later as she doubled back around. For the moment she stayed out of sight, watching Clint dash across the street to grab Skye’s arm before she could run into the burning shell of the warehouse from which Natasha had just escaped a fiery death. Huh.

Natasha tried to take a deep breath, coughed, and strolled down the street with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances. She had to grin a little watching Skye unsuccessfully try to alternately twist out of Clint’s iron grip and punch him in the chest. “Girly-girl, if you don’t stop hitting me in the nipple I’m gonna knock you over the head. Look, she’s fine. See?” He pointed with his free hand where Natasha was approaching them in plain sight.

Skye stopped moving abruptly, then whipped around with comically wide eyes to see for herself. Natasha smiled and shrugged. “Narrow escape, I admit, but here I am.”

“Why are you in your underwear?” Skye blurted out then choked on a sob that seemed to surprise her as much as Natasha. Clint looked faintly appalled and let her go, backing off a few steps and pretending to check his phone.

Natasha quickly surveyed herself and realized she looked far rougher than she felt, missing clothes, singed hair, bruises and scrapes, empty thigh holster and all. She felt a little helpless on what to say to Skye to reassure her. “The dress got torn in the fight and it was getting in the way so I took it off. Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“I…uhh…I’m glad you’re alive.” Skye wiped the few traitorous escaped tears off her face, and awkwardly nudged Natasha’s arm with her fist. “Being an Avenger seems kinda stressful.”

“Oh, this? This is just any old weekday for me.” Natasha smiled despite herself. “I thought I told you to go back to the hotel. What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you. Duh.” Skye pulled a face. “Or trying, anyway.”

“I just want to put it out there that I had nothing to do with this circus,” Clint added.

“You just might be stupid enough to join the team some day.” Natasha sighed and prodded the bump on her head. It was huge. Skye looked torn for a moment, and then she went in for the hug Natasha had been hoping was not going to need to happen. Alas.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks for reading, guys!

Natasha did not want to be convalescing on Coulson’s mid-life crisis…airplane, but Skye’s hovering had proved deadly. Clint had peaced out after an hour of poorly masking his amusement. She had trailed Skye onto the plane past several gawkers she could name but had never met, low fived Bobbi, nodded to Melinda, and then proceeded to lock herself in the shower until Skye eventually brought her some clothes. She wasn’t pleased that the plane had taken off before she had a say in the matter.

Coulson narrowed his eyes at her from where he sat across the table, their staring contest boring on ridiculous. Natasha cocked an eyebrow at him. Skye came in and set a mug of tea down on the table in front of her.

“A rematch,” Coulson finally said. Natasha sighed.

“Of…what?” Skye asked cautiously.

“Karaoke,” Coulson answered with that disarming innocent dad smile of his that Skye seemed to eat up with a spoon. Natasha had always been immune.

“OH!” Skye looked delighted. “I _love_ karaoke. Natasha, you should be on my team. I’m actually kind of good at it.”

Natasha turned and gave her a calculating look. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Coulson shift uncomfortably in his seat. Oh, really? She smiled sweetly. “Alright, it sounds like fun.”

Skye smiled and hurried off to set up the system. Natasha sipped her tea and batted her eyelashes through the steam, pleased that she had manipulated this coerced visit into an opportunity to inflict petty revenge on Coulson. She was genuinely warming to Skye’s (perhaps misguided) affections for her, especially if she was as good at karaoke as the signs suggested. Coulson dropped his head onto the table in what she assumed was preemptive defeat.


End file.
